Strolling Through the Storm
by BBAddict
Summary: They created their own storm and teamed it with the weather. Stranded partners, with issues to address....BB
1. Chapter 1

**_A/N: Well, the beginning chapter of this fic has been driving me crazy. I had been going through one of those...write...stop writing...write...stop writing... phases, where you get two lines done each time and then give up. My darling friend Mag has had to put up with me complaining about it, and for that I love her even more (if thats even possible ;) -hugs you-). Anyway, this one popped up and got me back on track, so full steam ahead :) Enjoy!_**

**_Disclaimer: Do you think the Blessed-Fake-Bomb will attach itself to Booth's 'cocky' belt buckle and threaten to blow up the Jeffersonian if Booth doesnt spend 24/7 in THAT position with Brennan? No?? Then I dont own em! So stop asking._**

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The rain has set in and can be felt like an assembly of small lead pallets piercing your exterior. They provide a constant reminder that shelter may be even further than you hoped. A howling wind begins to gain momentum and creates an uneasy affiliation with the cold liquid droplets. 

Your clothing is now saturated and you can no longer determine between the articles and your skin itself. The denim heavy, your ruby shirt now a gloomy shade, eerily like blood. Your limbs are beginning to tire and you can feel the length of the journey through the light throb of your leg muscles. Your usually lighter locks have become dark with saturation and stick to your face as they reflect your own portrayal of your surroundings.

You speak not to him as he places one determined step after the last. His thin shirt is plastered to his chest and your eyes skim over the hidden muscles which it defines. You gaze on; noticing how his taut physique wrinkles the attached material, leaving grooves which ripple with each step.

The impact of his stride is firm, warning you against any attempt at conversing that you may have planned. But it is foolish to believe such an action will discourage you from speaking your mind. You always do.

You begin to view each thud as an invitation for the words looking to break out from the cage they are detained in. A small stone finds itself in his warpath and he brings his foot toward the grey object, kicking it at full force across the pavement. The innocent object teamed with the movement is the final key to free the words that have been waiting patiently to be heard.

"Boo-"

"Nuh!"

He tries to silence you by raising his hand rapidly into the air, though he doesn't turn to look at you.

"But Bo-"

"What part of 'nuh' don't you understand, Bones?"

"But it was an accident Booth. You can't blame me! In fact, you're being very unreasonable".

You are slightly alarmed as his walk comes to a halt. He swings his head toward you in a single vigorous movement. You follow his lead and turn to face him; your eyes ready to dare him to accuse you of being wrong. However, you are not prepared for the frustration you see brimming in his eyes as he takes several large determined steps toward you. He halts once he has closed the distance between your torsos to no more that a few inches.

You immediately feel the warmth of his breath, brushing softly over your cheeks, like a warm breeze which arrives before a storm. His breathing deepens as he places two clenched fists on his hips. You immediately mirror his stance.

He uses the slight height difference between you to his advantage, leaning forward. You flinch slightly, not from his proximity but from a particular trail of moisture which is now traveling at a constant off the brim of his nose and flowing onto you. It mixes with the stream which travels down your own face, the two individual flows coming together and changing the course of the other, until uniting for they have an equal direction and purpose.

The action should have you blinking uncontrollably but you hold each others gaze. You know only your stubbornness could even triumph over your practicality.

He leans his head even closer to yours and addresses you through gritted teeth. His voice a low growl as it leaves his moist lips and travels into your ears, claiming them for its own shelter. You grapple with yourself to control your urge to quiver in response.

"Unreasonable?_ I'm_ being unreasonable, Bones?" He raises his eyebrows briefly, a look of infuriation crossing his features.

"Well….. yes."

As you answer, he coughs slightly, a cough of disbelief. Taking a deep, drawn out breath, he retaliates.

"Well, maybe if_ you_ weren't being unreasonable you wouldn't have succeeded at so gloriously pissing me off. Maybe then I wouldn't have had to pull over so that I could attempt to interrupt your insufferable lecture. Maybe if you had waited for the car to stop before bolting from it like some crackpot Olympic sprinter-"

"Booth, I hardly think that is an accurat-"

"A tree, Bones!" you watch incredulously as he removes his hands from his hips and waves them about vertically, emphasizing his point as though you don't understand the general concept.

"Booth, I know what a-"

"A tree, with leaves and branches and a whole collection of freaky little Hodgins bugs. That tree is now bursting forth from the hood of my car! And now we are stranded. We are walking from god knows where, to god knows where, in the middle of the night, and it is pouring with rain. Oh, and let me remind you that we have no food, no extra clothing and no cell phone reception. So please, why don't you enlighten me, without anymore of your scientific claptrap, and tell me which part of this I am being unreasonable about!" As the last word slips from his lips you watch as his jaw intuitively tightens and his eyes foolishly challenge your own.

The two of you stand still, the only movement your chests as they heave up and down. Two alone figures toe to toe on the edge of what has so far proven to be a particularly uninhabited side road.

As he stares you down with his piercing glare, you feel the restraints holding down your temper weaken. You instinctively feel your own jaw match the severity of his. Your eyes bore into his as your temper rises, escalating from within you, the eye to your very storm. You take your full height and feel your posture stiffen. You deepen your glare as you make sure he can feel the intensity of your being.

"Well Booth, maybe if you had not been so focused on regarding my opinion with such an ignorant attitude, or maybe if you had taken a moment to accept that I was not being callous, or cynical for that matter, or maybe if you had taken a step down from your tall-horse-"

"High-horse-"

"and abandoned your incessant need to take everything I say so personally. Maybe if you had approached me with a little more patience then I might not have considered it essential to get away from you. Maybe then you would have noticed the tree before you hit it!"

You realize your voice was escalating and had reached a yell by the end of your spiel. But you purposely didn't try to control it. Your chest rises and falls heavily as you desperately try to regain control of your breathing. You can tell that your eyes are continuing to smolder, but you loose your intended focus as you follow an outsized raindrop that is leisurely grazing its way down his features.

As it approaches his lips you feel your hands unclench and little by little fall to your sides. Flowing over the mound of his upper lip, the drop finds itself in the valley between. It covers the span as though it wants nothing more than to taste him for itself. A few moments later, it gets its wish. You watch, mesmerized, as it is slowly captured by the tip of his smooth tongue as it ducks out and effortlessly grazes his lips. It hovers momentarily, before gathering the last of the moisture and returning to the great unknown. You feel you heart rip and you hastily try to dismiss the reaction without too much thought – it is, after all, foolish to envy a raindrop.

You drag your focus to meet his own and are surprised but pleased to find him watching your own mouth. Though you still see his irritation in the dark pools of his eyes, you both know just how easily that can transform to lust. You hear his breath hitch as you bight down on you lower lip. He now watches you hungrily and you mull over dragging your lip further into your mouth as though it is the invisible switch to weaken the shackles and finally release your parallel desires.

His deportment softens, his breathing remains heavy. His right hand rediscovers its ability to move. As it leaves his hip you close your eyes, frightened to discover its intended destination. You don't have to wait long. You feel the delicate touch of two soft fingertips along the swell of your bottom lip. They dance to their own melodic tune of yearning. The servants to an exploration their owner has longed to embark on.

The tip of your tongue connects with the tip or his middle finger in one electrifying instant. Your eyes fly open. You are unsure whether the contact was a result of your tongue or his finger chasing its need. Surprised, he pulls back his finger slightly and contact is momentarily suspended.

You continue to watch his eyes, as they watch your mouth.

Longing still evident in his eyes, his fingers approach your wet skin again and this time the tips are daintily placed on your cheek. A fabulous sensation races through your every nerve, a commotion of hot and cold invading your senses. He briefly closes his eyes, as though the moment is too much for him to bear and he must surrender one of his senses in order to survive. You stare as several raindrops fasten themselves to his feathery eyelashes. You long to brush them away but your limbs deny you and remain welded by your sides.

His fingers timidly work their way up your cheek as his eyes flutter open to observe the wonder. He soon reaches the edge of your hairline and pauses, holding your cheek in the palm of his hand, his thumb ever so slightly stroking back and forth. You lean into his touch as your hand begins the journey to meet his, a magnet being pulled by a greater force. You place it over his, two of your fingers lacing themselves between his.

Now connected, your eyes spring back to find the others. And hold. Your mind knows from much experience how his soul will pierce your own through a single glance between light and dark prying centers, though you can't avoid. You feel him reading you, as he so often does. You don't fight it. The moment to abandon the fight for truth is lost.

Thumbs still stroking, as yours now coats his hand, you realize that each muscle that defines you is tense with anticipation. You have somehow inched a fraction closer, but still enough distance remains that you can see his dark circles overflow with a concoction of his inner perplexity. You look through the confusion and recognize what you expect to be ambition. It is the moment where you realize your ability to read him. His influence, you know.

The rain is still rushing down your respective faces though neither of you really notice. It washes away the uncertainty, it washes away the hesitation. You tangle your fingers deeper into his grasp and break the gaze, turning your face into his palm and placing a small tender kiss to its centre. You feel his body moan, you feel the remaining breath held by his lungs being pushed out in one movement.

Your eyes are closed as they hide in the security of his kind hand; you don't see him coming toward you until his cheek is pressed against your own as he buries himself in your hair, his forehead dragging ever so gently across your shoulder blade. You find yourself sighing, as he closes the remaining distance and pushes his body against yours, his free hand resting timidly on your waist. He releases a soft sound, a moan, a murmur, which your ears confirm was your beloved endearment, a whimpered "Bones".

His lips graze you ear, your jaw line, as he applies a slight pressure to turn your mouth to meet his. Inches remaining, you pause as your breathe mingles. A small moment to allow reality to nod its head, yes, this is happening.

Or at least, was happening.

The overhead clouds applaud you abruptly with their thunderous approval, but they are an impatient audience. Your bodies promptly react to the clatter which you weren't expecting; jumping apart you glare at the sky, scowling at its rude interruption.

When the rain begins to sting your eyes you admit defeat and lower your gaze. Suddenly, you are staring into his eyes. As usual, the intensity is overwhelming, but for once, it's too much to bear. You don't plan on denying what happened, no inclination to chase away those feelings. But now, as you look for answers from the other, you experience a new feeling, one that you have rarely ever associated with him; awkwardness.

You look away, as does he. You look everywhere, anywhere, but at him. Finally your settle on an old tin railing resting in the neighboring paddock. You clasp your hands together, unclasp, place them in your pockets, before bringing them back together again, your fingers playing with the edges of you sopping shirt. Your anxiety evident, you decide to break the silence, trying to sound nonchalant, jovial even.

"Was that God disapproving?"

You glance uncertainly at him out of the corners of your eyes, not yet secure enough to look him straight on. There he stands; 6'1 worth of all that is good and true, staring at you. But it's not with the look of apprehension you expected. Instead, you see disappointment etched across his features.

You are momentarily confused by the change, and repeat your words in your mind. What was meant to be a simple statement to break the tension, has become your tickets for a return trip, a ride back to the earlier conflict of the day. Another instance of your forgetting to think before you speak.

Sighing dejectedly, he clenches his eyes closed and slumps his head downwards. Wavering ever so slightly he moves his head from left to right, right to left, conveying his distress. His body seems to argue with its self, whether to convey hurt, frustration, or continue with to ride with his fleeing emotions.

Eventually, he brings his head back up but he does not look at you, rather past you, fixing on something in the background. You turn and follow his line of sight, notice the outline of what looks to be a small structure. An old, petite cabin perched on the top of a small hill. The lightning of the storm illuminates the hills behind it.

You look back toward your partner who is still staring off into the distance. You are not sure what to say, what to do. But before your mind can decide, he moves, brushing past you as he begins his journey toward the shelter. You remain still, the light touch causing a shiver to sweep it's way over your chilled skin, as your ears pick up his hushed command.

"Let's move".

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**_A/N: As always, please let me know what you thought by clicking the pretty purple button :)_**


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N - First off, thank you all so very very much for your wonderful reviews, you are all so kind!! Second of all.. yes, I know, this chapter is incredibly late.. please fogive me! I am saying sorry with some good ol' BB lovin'... so let me know if I'm forgiven! Please enjoy :)**_

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"_Let's move__."_

You stare after your partner who is making a path for the cabin at the top of the hill. The landscape has several dips before reaching its peak where the old seemingly wooden form resides. You notice many large shadows along the way which appear to be large jagged rocks, scattered across the blackened pasture, some are in groups, while others stand alone. The few trees which inhabit the area blow roughly in the wind, fighting for control against the powerful force, collaborating to sing their haunting song.

"Come on, Bones, sometime before Christmas please."

Your partner's weary yet stubborn voice travels along the staff of nature's song, reaching your ears and abducting your mind from its musings. His silhouette is facing you from a short distance away. Through the heavy rain and the shadows you can not to see his expression, but oh, how you wish you could. His tone does not seem to sport as much frustration as it harboured earlier, though the outline of his profile remains rigid.

"Right, sorry," you mutter, hazily to yourself, as your body finally snaps to attention.

You make your way over to him, picking up your pace to a slow jog as you close the remaining distance, trying not to lose your footing on the slippery surface. Once by his side, you pause, your head turning sideways to look at him. Even though you both have the other committed to memory, down to the very last detail, you still stare, as though you have an inner need to be reacquainted with the others features after only a few moments apart.

Gazes locked, you know you should no longer be surprised at your reaction to the regular occurrence. But somehow your body is always surprised. Your heart always stops, before picking up a rapid pace. Your breathe hitches, before becoming deep and prolonged. Your body stills, before your every nerve converts into hundreds of tiny fireworks, celebrating the momentary connection with its counterpart.

As the electrical display continues, a particularly strong gust of wind wraps itself around your body causing you to shiver, and just like that, your eyes unlock.

He casually places an arm around your body, his hand resting softly on your shoulder. You smile to yourself as he skims his palm across the area and down your arm several times, trying to stimulate some warmth. He applies a slight pressure as he takes a step forward urging you to continue the journey by his side. You ache to circle your arm around his lower back, but you resist the urge.

Together you continue your journey through the storm, hoping to reach the sanctuary at the end. For the moment, you ignore the metaphor.

You don't notice how your steps instinctively fall in time with his as you hike along the now steadily increasing slope. The sopping green pasture which decorates the surface is struggling to stay dominant against the mud which the soil and rain are creating. You, however, are caught up in the wonder of how alive your shoulder feels as he strokes his thumb in small circles, like the hand on a small clock. You feel a gentle tickle as his fingers occasionally skip across the top of your arm and four crystal rivers emanate from their tips and flow down your bare arm. You find yourself wishing that the short sleeves of your top, now fixed to your arm with moisture, were shorter, or better yet, non-existent.

You lean into him slightly, fitting yourself into the curve of his side, a perfect fit. Taking a deep breath, you gather your wits, glance at his appealing profile out the corner of your eye and decide to give converse another try.

"You okay?" you ask softly, nervously, your gaze roaming over his features as you bight down on you bottom lip, perhaps with a little too much force.

He surprises you a little by chuckling. One single chuckle, that starts in his stomach and rises, up and out his tract, inviting a small smile from his lips as it glides over them.

He gives you two slight nods and then tilts his head to the side, leaning his forehead close to your own. You watch him take in your features, and you feel his eyes with a greater affect than the angry rain as it pelts your skin.

"Yeah, Bones. I'm okay," he says, momentarily connecting his forehead with yours as he offers you a subtle smile, one which you return.

You both return your stare to the undefined path ahead and the mucky ground you are now passing over. Sighing inwardly, you give in to your need, wrapping your arm around his lower back, letting your fingers rest softly on his strong hip. You don't allow yourself to visually confirm his reaction, but you sense his smile like the wrestling wind, you can not see it, but its presence is undeniable.

"So," he begins, his tone now irrefutably light-hearted, confirming your suspicion of a smile. Tightening his grip on your shoulder and pulling you closer, he continues, "You don't suppose the FBI vehicle insurance policy will cover an off-duty crash which results in a 3 foot deep indoor swimming pool, do you?"

Releasing a small laugh you answer, "Somehow, I don't believe it will."

"Yeah, I was afraid of that."

Left to your own thoughts, you finally take a moment to think about how surreal your evening has become. This morning when you took your time carefully selecting the chiffon ruby blouse with the Chinese silk trim, which you had purchased purely because it somehow reminded you of your mother, you couldn't possibly have imagined that come evening you would be trudging through the stormy countryside with your partner.

You know that in time, once this escapade is over, when you are nestled within the warmth of the diner, he will offer you a smile full of unavoidable charisma and quip, "_All in a day's work, Bones". _Rolling your eyes, you contemplate just how familiar you have become with this man and his ways, as your fingers dance with the woven cloth at the hem of his shirt. You notice that the rain has been ineffective at washing away the mixture of his cologne and natural scent, and you are thankful. The beloved aroma always triumphant in abducting you to a refuge that you didn't realise you were seeking. Essentially, he feels like home.

As though he inadvertently senses your contemplation of his meaning, your body is suddenly alert as his hand skims gradually down your arm, as though a sleek boat, floating along the trail of moisture, leaving desirous ripples in its wake.

You don't hold your breath. Instead you inhale and exhale copious amounts of air, like your drowning, each time you breach the surface, you take a breath as though it is your last. And its true, you are drowning, submerged in sensations you never envisioned could exist, engulfed by the depths which your senses have lured you. Just before his fingers reach your own, he changes direction, content with resting his hand upon the thin material that graces your hip.

At the contact a sharp gasp escapes you, mingling with the wind which has chosen this moment to howl. You whisper a quiet gratitude, as for it not felt the need to be heard, you certainly would have been.

You realise the hand which previously laid delicately across his hip, is now gripping to his shirt as though it is you final lifeline to your rational world. Relaxing your grasp, you try to regulate your breathing, closing your eyes in concentration and allowing his body to direct you by the arm, wrapped tenderly around your waist.

Your panting begins to slow, but unbeknownst to you, the stability will only last for a moment.

He is unable to prevent you slipping, as the movement catches him off guard. Your feet fail you; your balance is forfeited to natures muddy flooring. As you land, face down, your weight invites a loud squelch from the pasture, splashing you with a small wave of dark moisture. You feel the mud sneak its way between your fingers. Some other time the feeling might have been soothing.

"Bones!"

Groaning, you push yourself up onto you hands and feet, glancing down you grumble at the dark coating of saturated earth that your clothing has now acquired. You move to pull yourself up, but feel the tips of your shoes begin to slip, instead of digging into the soil as you had hoped.

"You know Bones, I should have guessed you'd be the mud wrestling type."

"Booth?"

"Mmm?"

"Please shut up and help me."

Although you are not facing him, you can sense that he is trying to resist the urge to chuckle. His better judgement must have taken precedence, remaining silent as he maneuvered himself, placing one foot on either side of you. Leaning down he begins to wrap his muscular arms around your petite waist. Suddenly your weary body is not so weary, becoming the marionette of your emotions as it jumps to life. His hands meet at your navel, his fingers weaving themselves together, a blanket of strength.

He attempts to pull you backwards, and you use own your hands to force yourself upward. Once uprooted from the soil, you shake your hands to try and remove some of the mud that has seeped through your fingers, but soon forget the need as he unthreads his fingers and tightens his arms around you. On instinct, you cross your own pale arms, placing them atop of his, your long fingers coming to rest on his.

Now upright you don't dare move. He holds you tightly, your back pressed against his chest; there is no space between you, no part of the blustery weather can sever your connection. The rain drops which fall upon the area of your union are cast off to the side. You feel them wash over your fingers and trickle through the cracks between, reaching his fingers and repeating the routine. The explorers of a new discovery, their trail never before travelled.

You feel his breath now, sweeping through the curtains of your hair like a warm breeze at daybreak. Your eyelids flutter closed as his breathing delights your lobes, kneading them with its invisible fingers, a masseuse of desire. Its temperature increases, and you realise his face must be closer now. His head is along side yours, though with his height, as he moves to press his cheek above your ear, you feel his lips brushing against it. You gasp, gripping his hands as he opens is fingers, silently inviting your own to sneak through the spaces and become wrapped in his warmth, in his compassion. And invitation they accept.

Your fingers gently caress his, as his caress yours. Treasuring the stance, you remain lost in the tranquillity.

Your feel his arms shift slightly, as he slowly unwraps himself from your waist. Waves of disappointment pulse through your chest, until you realise that he is merely spinning you to face him. You turn, little by little, his fingers grazing your middle like a group of lit matches burning their imprints into you memory and soul.

Facing him, your eyes open to meet his dark cicles as you snake your arms up to rest on his biceps. You reach up and trace a lone fingertip along his jaw line, he moans softly, closing his eyes briefly, until the tip reaches his chin. Then he watches you. Suddenly all of nature is an orchestra, beating their instruments with a force for the entire world to hear. You have never felt so aware, yet so absorbed.

You are both waiting for something as you stare into one another's eyes. For what, you do not know. Perhaps for the other. Perhaps for someone to peel away the fantasy that surrounds. Waiting to feel the union of lips. Of yearning. Of lust.

Instead, you feel as though you are falling. You realise you are. It seems nature has defied you again and taken centre stage.

Together you slip, he cries out with surprise, as do you. He from the unexpected slip, you from him landing on top of you.

With his weight, you sink further into the mud and the sound of a splash is suddenly louder than the chords of nature. You grumble as you feel the moisture soak into the back of your blouse.

Your arms are still around him. You are lying on his hands. The rest of is body covers yours. He lifts his head to meet your eyes, and when your gazes meet, the hilarity of the situation gets the better of you both.

Together, you laugh. The side-splitting, roaring kind of laughter, that kind takes control of your entire body, shaking its core, pulsating through your every nerve. He leans his head in the crook of your neck as you forfeit your final cleanliness, leaning your own head back onto the grubby pasture, continuing your cries of enjoyment.

He sneaks one arm our from underneath you and props himself up. His features gleam with amusement. Looking downwards, he scans your body, talking in the state of your filthy clothing. Looking back at you, eyes glistening, you prepare yourself for the quip that you know is coming.

"Hey Bones, you seem to have a little something right….. there." Reaching his other hand out from underneath you, he plays close attention to a small speck of dirt, no larger than a small coin, which is fixed on your arm, near your elbow. Carefully wiping it away, he looks back at you, grinning. "There we are. Now you're as good as new!"

You shake your head at him as he hovers over you, smirking at his own wit. You can't help but enjoy the view, wishing that the moon was not hidden behind the thunder clouds. As he concentrates on you, his eyes are so intense they put shame to the strength of the storm. At that moment, you decide vengeance is most definitely in order. Catching him off guard, you propel upward and manage to flip him. You perch yourself on his lap, forcing him to be your prisoner as he sits, his rear connecting with the sopping grass.

"Darn it, Bones! Now my pants are all dirty! Before they were just wet!"

You mirror the expression he had offered you earlier, your smile is always contagious to him, and this moment is no exception. He grins back at you.

"So I was right." He states, raising his eyebrows. Still grinning, you do not reply, you simply wait for him to continue.

"Forensic anthropologist by day… extreme mud-wrestler by night."

You break your gaze with him, casting it to his torso, where his shirt moves up and down in time with his breathing, the thin material highlighting his muscular physique. Placing your hands delicately on his chest you speak in a sultry tone, shaking your head.

"Booth, Booth, Booth. I'm sorry, but that's not it."

He stares intently, pupils so dark you're afraid they may explode with desire, his mouth slightly open as his chest heaves with excitement.

"I….It," his voice betrays him, and he closes his eyes seemingly going in search of his strength.

"It's not?"

"No," you reply, forcing your eyes to look at him, "I'm merely honoring your requirement for a partnership based on equality."

You allow him an instant to feel confused, before you thrust him backward and onto the mud-covered ground, the water spraying out from under him with a definitive splash. You hoot with amusement, and he can't help but follow your lead.

"You're gonna pay for that one, Bones. Just you wait!"

Smiling down at him, you climb off his lap, somewhat regretfully, and offer him your hand. Taking it, he stands, attempting to turn his head and assess the damage to the back of his clothing. Giving up he offers you a small wink, before encouraging you to continue on the journey, pulling you along with his hand, fingers now entangled with you own.

Time passes. Step by step the cabin nears. The rain is getting heavier, which you did not think possible. The wind is livid, bellowing at your ignorance for being in the midst of its fury. The lighting is more frequent, the thunder a deafening roar. You clutch at the security which your connected hands offer.

He is getting nervous, somehow, you sense it. He picks up his pace, but only slightly, you know he is trying not to alarm you.

"You know, Booth, the Greeks both feared and marvelled lightning, as it was believed to be an act of Zeus, the God of the Sky. And some Indian tribes believed that thunder and lightning occurred when a great Thunderbird was in battle, the clap of its wings producing the sound of thunder, and lightning sparked from its beak." You offer your usual type of spiel, hoping to distract your minds from your surrounds.

Your voice light, you are surprised when he his eyes shoot to you in disbelief. He loosens his grip on your hand so that it is now you who holds on to him.

"You just don't give up, do you!"

"What do yo-"

"I guess I shouldn't be surprised, you always just… just say whatever you want, don't you!"

You still look stunned at his outburst, your expression one of frustration and confusion.

"Booth, what are you talking about?"

"Well your point is what, Bones? That a belief in a magical giant budgie or a Greek God is more plausible than the God I believe in? The God I live by? Great, thanks."

Finally, you catch up. "What? No! Booth I wasn't-"

With a final pull, he wrenches his hand from the grasp of you fingers.

"Just forget it, Bones. Just forget it."

He charges ahead, bounding up the few rickety stairs of the shelter, which creak under his weight. Reaching the door, he does not pause. Forcing it open, he enters into the dark and is gone from your sight. You remain motionless for a moment, still aghast. Sighing, you gradually follow him into the unknown, gently closing the door behind you.

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**_A/N - you know the drill...click away:)_**


	3. Chapter 3

_**...so I spoke to**__** my really great mate earlier today... perhaps you know him, his name is David Boreanaz? Anyway, so we were chatting away as we so often do, talking about life, love, the birds and the bees, and he sort of asked me to pass on a message to you guys... you see, he believes you should all forgive me for how long it's taken to update, because obviously it is not my fault if I'm constantly distracted by his hot, sexy, deliciously oh-so-perfectly perfect booty. Oh, and, as a bonus for forgiving me... well…. I'm not really meant to say,**__** buuuuuut…well,**__** he said he will talk to Hart and get us a seriously smokin' hot BB smutfest!! How great is that!! Okay, so we're cool?!? All forgiven, no love lost, best friends again?? Guys!?!? Guys!?!**_

_**Okay. Its waaaay too late for me to be outside my padded room.**_

_**Enjoy, my fluffy eared friends! (No no, YOU guys are the fluffy eared friends... don't EAT and enjoy the fluffy eared friends coz, you know, that will make you a Gormogon suspect and… yeah okay nurse, give me the sedatives…)**_

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_"Just forget it, Bones. Just forget it."_

_He charges ahead, bounding up the few rickety stairs of the shelter, which creak under his weight. Reaching the door, he does not pause. Forcing it open, he enters into the dark and is gone from your sight. You remain motionless for a moment, still aghast. Sighing, you gradually follow him into the unknown, gently closing the door behind you._

You are confronted with a chilling darkness which immediately encircles you, taking you as its prisoner. With the door closed behind you, the wind becomes a far-away howl, a phantom lost in the distance. The rain is a constant rap on the lone window pane, the pelts joining the powerful thumping of your heart, your mind the tiny drummer, desperately beating, straining to be heard.

Your eyes gradually adjust to the solemn dimness, and are able to distinguish that you are in a small room, two doorways leading off the left wall. You hear clatter coming from within the framed darkness of one, and you presume that is where he has disappeared too. You don't follow, you merely wait. Your nose inhales the air that has been trapped in the lifeless confinement. It is stale and musty. It smells of rotting wood, it smells of loneliness. Is smells of forgotten memories.

Removing your shoes and dripping socks, you place them beside the old door, where you notice he has also done the same. Despite the mood, you can't help but smile at the picture they create.

For the moment you are your own company, lost in your own thoughts. Your words are still alive in the tears of anger that hide behind your eyes. You feel their pressure as they punish you for being so inappropriate. True, you did not mean him harm by your words; you would never wish to harm him, and you know he knows this to be true. But that doesn't mean that you shouldn't be able to put some restraints on your opinion, keep it from aggravating your company before it rides away with all sense of contentment. Your ignorance has left you alone, and you know that, like the small shards of wood on the shelters walls, you have splintered his heart with your words. You saw the expression he harboured in his eyes, like they were bleeding with cold despair.

Your thoughts travel back to your journey in the car earlier. What had started out as another debate, a regular argument of your forever contrasting opinions, had quickly escalated into something more severe. You pushed, you lectured, you spoke your own words with ignorance. You crossed a line, which you now know. Who are you to decide that one person's opinion or values are more justified than another's? Sure, you have the science, you have the facts, you have the evidence for support, but does that give you the right to proclaim superiority over another?

You screw your eyes together tightly, trying to block out the confusion that swirls between your mind and heart. Shaking your head, you try to block out the memory of your own voice and concentrate on the situation at hand. The past can not be altered or changed. You can only work with now, not then, you rationalise.

You hear footsteps approaching, and turning timidly toward one doorway, you are able to make out the outline of your partner as he enters the gloomy area. You listen to his breathing, the sound filling your ears much like the wind had earlier, however this holds more power over you than the wind ever could. It races its way through your body, etching itself to the walls that bind you, before setting up camp deep in your soul.

"Here, I found these" he states, his voice flat and robotic, void of emotion. It nerves you. Even when he has been upset with you in the past, he has been unable to restrict all feeling from his voice.

You feel at a loss. You are not sure what to do next, a feeling you hate. You have lost control, wandering, a blind woman lost in a darkened maze, one that you are not sure has an exit.

Casting your eyes downward, you focus on his hands. Hands which a short while ago had been wrapped around you like a lover grasping to their only lifeline. Forcing your legs to obey your mind, you take several pointed steps toward his gallant figure but you're eyes remain focused on the linen objects in his hands.

"You should get out of that wet clothing, before you make yourself sick. Here, wrap yourself in these.' This time, try as he might, he is unable to shelter his emotion and keep it unexposed from your ears. You pick up on the slight quiver, though you remain unsure whether it is anger, frustration or longing. Perhaps it is a combination of all three.

"But what about—"

"I'll be fine" he growls, as he takes a forceful step forward, intent on moving past you, making a path for the door. The realisation of him currently preferring the weather over your company triggers something within you, and in a swift moment, your mind consults your heart, deciding that they will not walk the path of avoidance.

You shift a fraction to the left, blocking his course, as you lift one nervous hand. It seems to decide on its own accord that its place to rest should be his muscular chest. Your fingers move delicately, gently massaging the chest beneath the shirt, as his heart beats to the rhythm of time.

The movement catches him off guard, and his eyes catapult to catch your own. His skin is a desirous match that lights your own alight and he stares at you, his eyes the epiphany of a wild fire striving to survive a fight against a hurricane of anger and lust.

In a jolt of movement he moves forward, as though you're a strong magnet, he is suddenly against your body, the towels now forgotten as they drop to the floor. Surprised, your eyes close as your senses are filled with everything that he entails. His head sweeps around the left of yours and he presses his open lips softly against your ear. As he breathes, a deep heartfelt breath, you feel your entire body shudder with a voltage that you are sure could never before be know to man.

Your fingers crunch a fistful of his dripping shirt. The water trickles out and over your knuckles, but you don't notice.

You are frozen in place, as though you want to be fully aware of whatever move he may make next. Its then you hear it. A whimper. A growl. A moan. Your name. He lets it escape and you feel as though you have never heard anything so beautiful, never felt anything so breathtaking, never known anything so desirous.

"Bones…" he breaths, as you gasp, your lungs grasping for the air surrounding you for it is your last chance of survival.

But just as quickly as the passion began, he is brushing past you and out toward the door. Your skin tingles at the wind which swirls between your bodies at his swift movement.

As he pulls the rickety door closed behind him, you realise that he needs a moment to himself, and you resign to offer him some privacy. Gently settling your fingers around the discarded towels lying atop the wooden floor, you clasp the items like a blanket to your chest and head into the dark archway which you partner appeared from just moments before.

Entering the space which you note to be the bathroom, the few rays of moonlight which have breached the clouds allow you to see the old rickety shower up against the left hand wall. You feel your body rejoice, the thought of warm water gliding over your skin and washing away the tension in the air is very enticing. Moving toward it, you begin to slowly peel away your clothing which has attached itself so tightly to your skin that you almost struggle to determine one from the other. Your fingers graze the smoothness of your hipbone as you shimmy your way out of your darkened denim. Reaching for the crocheted trim of your lightweight blouse, you pull the material over your shoulders, gently casting it to the floor. Reaching your arms around your back, your fingers grasp for the clasps that adorn your plum coloured bra. Releasing the object, you left it dance its way down your body, reaching its finale as it falls to the floor.

Realising that light may be a problem, you reach downward to the small cupboard that hides beneath the sink. Feeling your way about, your fingers curl around an object that fills the requirements of what you were searching for. Though, like you, although it is an object all on its own, it requires a partner to shine to its full potential.

Shuffling about a little more, you find what you were looking for. Retrieving the small cardboard box, you take out a single match and light the round, sturdy candle that you have placed on the bench top. The small fire quickly captures its small wick victim. An orange glow softly highlights the room, from the old tiled floor, graciously flickering over the old wooden walls, creating gentle streaks along the rooftop. A relaxing scent flows through your nostrils, lavender, you discern.

Stepping into the small realm of the shower, you reach forward, turning the brass nob clockwise. It groans in protest, before surrendering the small droplets, these considerably gentler than those you encountered earlier. You let the water rush over your skin, shivering as it glazes over your shoulders and down the length of your long, shapely back. You skip your fingertips along your arm, up, up, up to the curve of your neck, where you gently massage your screaming muscles. Your eyelids droop, as your body gives in to your surroundings and utters a whimper of relaxation.

Through the drone of the shower, you hear the click of the old wooden door. Your heartbeat quickens, your breathing shallows. You feel a soft throb being to pulsate throughout your lower torso in reaction to the realisation of what caused the noise. The intimate and exciting feeling that comes with the knowledge that he stands alone, in the dark adjoining room, whilst you stand naked, your body the glistening artwork which adorns the stark walls.

Your fingers curve around the brass nob once more, ending the stream of moisture that flowed along your skin. You stand, motionless, afraid that if you move your mind will later discover your body has forfeited itself to one of its regular desirous fantasies.

You hear it then. His breathing. His deep, masculine breathes that sound to your ears like flowing water does to one lost in a desert. You find your chest heaving, as it joins his at the same pace. Together, you heave. For seconds? Perhaps. Minutes? More likely.

You wonder where he stands in the sparse lull space. You wonder are his eyes closed, or his eyelids fluttering as his head rolls back in unsatisfied pleasure. Is he suppressing a groan, as he pictures you naked? Questions upon question, ones which you desperately want answered.

Squeezing the moisture out of your wet hair and wrapping the small towel around your glistening body, you timidly lift your foot, almost in slow motion. Stepping onto the tile, you place one foot in front of the other, as you make your way to the opening. An opening to truth, an opening to passion.

Your breathing doesn't slow, nor does it quicken. It keeps it's even pace with your partner of the night.

Reaching the doorway you pause, for just a moment, gathering everything that encompasses you as you take the final steps. Peering your head around the edge of the splintered door frame, your eyes try to establish his whereabouts, but your ears are the winners of the sensory competition. You hear him again, at the opposite side of the room from where you entered the rundown structure earlier.

As your eyes gather their courage, you take another small step as you zone in on his silhouette. But what you see, surprises you.

He is not standing in the middle of the room, like you would have predicted. Instead, he leans hard against the old wooden wall. As you gradually tiptoe closer, you notice he has removed his drenched shirt, and stands facing the panel, with his forehead resting against the surface. One arm is high against the wall, bent at the elbow, his forearm pressing itself roughly against the surface. His left hand is clasped tightly into a fist as it finds support against the wall, next to his head. Drifting your gaze down his body, you see his right knee is also pursed against the wall, as though daring it to move.

You come to a halt just inches from him, and though you are not touching, your skin is so alive you could have convinced yourself otherwise. You can feel every hair, every nerve, every realised and unrealised emotion set into movement, forming a team that is instantly sent to prey upon you heart.

Lifting a shy finger you gently touch the tip to his shoulder blade, hoping to pull him from his reverie. You expect him to slowly acknowledge you, perhaps loosen the tight grip of his fist..

Instead he lunges, with the speed of a wild, purposeful animal that has set eyes upon his pray. His quick action pushes you, your back now facing the wall, as his body presses up against you, his hands pressed against the wall to either side of your face, effectively trapping you.

You feel his breath, warm upon your lips. You feel it as it gently blows across the span of your face, tickling your eyelashes as they close from the sensation of having him so near again. His right knee moves forward, finding itself a home in between your own. You feel your hands go on a mission of their own, guided by their own freewill, reaching their destination as your fingers curl over the top of his belt, hooking in place, your fingertips softly resting against the strip of skin hidden by the rim of his Armani pants.

He shudders. Only slightly, but you feel it like a tidal wave that just broke the shore, your body the beach as the water takes control of every grain of sand. His eyes remaining closed, he dips is head and moves to bury it in the crook of your neck, but when he is less than inch away, he stops, his breath swooping across your skin as you feel the heat of his lips from such the short distance away.

Neither of you move, as he begins to whisper.

"Bones, sometimes I just..." he trails off, as he removes a hand that lay on the wall beside your head. It hovers, before making a connection with your side, just below your right breast. He does not apply pressure, leaving the touch as feather light, but it is enough to drive you lightly insane.

As though sensing your desire, or perhaps following his own, he grazes his palm down your side, his fingers following the trail. Your breath catches, and for a moment you have to remind yourself to breathe as he wraps his hand around the curve of your hip, his thumb drawing small circles over the towel that scantily covers your body. Gradually, he applies enough pressure to send your sanity into a critical state.

"Sometimes you?" your voice fails you as he releases a warm breeze which heats your earlobe, and you gasp urgently in response, "just... what?"

" Sometimes I just get... so mad... just a-aah-", this time, you do the interrupting as you turn your head to the side and back, effectively grazing your cheek against his own.

"...just, get... so frustrated... so crazy.." he renews contact as he brushes his nose onto the sensitive skin just behind your ear, as you nibble the left corner of your bottom lip.

"Sometimes," he whispers, "... sometimes I just," slowly, he pulls himself back, just enough to allow your cheek to graze the length of the right side of his face, before you sense him settle his face just in front of yours, your breaths mingling together easily with your closeness.

He waits there, as you wonder what move he is going to make next. Your nervous system feels as though it is dissolving and exploding all at the same time. You have not yet dared to open your eyes, afraid of what his proximity will make you do.

Suddenly he pushes from the wall, letting out a frustrated groan as he moves away from you with force. You eyes shoot open, as he stops, his back toward you, his hands on his head.

Taking a deep breath, he continues, his voice stronger. "Sometimes Bones, I just get so aggravated. I don't... I can't understand how your mind works, how I seem to be unworthy of the understanding you show to others."

Confused, you decide to wait for him to continue, rather than throwing your own words into the pool of turmoil.

"I have beliefs Bones. I have faith; a trust in God and it helps me live from day to day. Helps me to keep doing what we do so well together. Helps me to go on after all the horrors that we see. But sometimes, I just, can't take it when you tear my faith down so easily."

Dropping his head, he gives it a light shake, emitting a sigh that echoes to every corner of the room, sending a chill down your spine. You barely recover from it when he surprises you again, spinning around to face you.

Slowly, he takes several steps towards you, as he continues his speech. "Sometimes, I just cant comprehend why all the other belief systems out there are judged by the anthropologist," pausing, he takes a final another step toward you, not as close as your earlier encounter, but close enough to touch, "But you save the scientist for me."

You're dumbstruck. You can't believe what he has just said, but mainly you can't believe that you hadn't realised this before. And he is right. You are an Anthropologist. You do study cultures, their way of life, traditions, and yes, belief systems. You look at it with an open mind. And even when the scientist in you doesn't believe, the anthropologist accepts the culture for what it is. Why is it then that he hasn't deserved the same acceptance?

You try, but struggle to get a grip on any answers that may be sitting on the outskirts of your mind, which is occupied with thoughts of the feelings and reactions that are flowing through your body in reaction to his. You try to stop yourself, you know this is not the time for you fantasies and libido to take control; you need to be listening to him, just as he so often listens to you. Unfortunately you can tell that your rationality is going to lose this round.

What you haven't realised, is that his speech is not quiet done. He lunges now, pressing himself hard against your body as your back collides against the wall. His arms return to their earlier positions, one to the wall just above your head, the other gripped to your waist. But this time, he holds you firmly, you can feel your hips pressed against one another's, your noses so close you're not sure where yours ends and his begins.

Your eyes close as he shifts his head slightly to the left, his lips moving to whisper into your ear.

"But you know what makes it even worse Bones, what makes it a struggle to get through a day? Sometimes, I...," before you can prepare yourself, you body is shocked into a state of amazement, as his tongue darts out and lightly grazes your earlobe. You hear the whimper escape your lips, and beneath your eyelids your eyes roll further back.

As your breathing increases, your chest taking large leaps with every intake, you breathlessly utter a pleading prompt. "Sometimes you?"

And then he whispers, deep, deep into your ear. "Sometimes, I just want you. So. Bad."

You gasp with desire, your eyes flying open as his move to face yours. They lock together in a lust laden gaze. You are sure you can feel your pupils becoming as dark as the midnight sky, and as your chest rises and falls dramatically you gather enough strength to breathlessly moan all you can manage, "Sometimes?"

"No," he whispers, shaking his hear slightly as his eyes dart to your shinning lips and back again. "Not sometimes. Always. Constantly, throughout every day and night. You, Temperance, are my addiction."

Faster than you can blink, his right hand leaves the wall and threads itself into your damp hair, thrusting your lips upward as his come crashing down to claim their territory.

Your right hand automatically rises and threads into his dark locks, still damp from your earlier trek. Your left hand grazes along the bare skin of his abdomen, before moving around to caress his back, whilst desperately applying pressure to get his body closer to yours.

Even if someone had written a manual, nothing could have prepared you for the earth shattering experience of kissing him. You whimper at the connection, so powerful you see colors exploding in the lids of your eyes as they flutter closed.

As your lips desperately massage one another, you feel his tongue flick out to graze your bottom lip. Without a second thought, your lips part and you find your mind lost, as his tongue slips easily into your mouth and kidnaps your mind and heart in one passionate swoop. You sweep your own tongue along the length of his, and you feel the hand at your waist start to travel north. Skipping over the outer of of your breast, it reaches your neck and joins its partner in lacing itself through your hair, holding your mouth forcefully against his.

You respond in earnest, your hands moving down the naked sides of his chest, trailing over every muscle. They reach his belt and make a soft trail around to his front, and he moves back slightly to allow you to run your hands up his muscular chest. You hear yourself growl as you caress every ripple, and thrust your tongue more powerfully to show your approval.

He lifts you then. His hands quickly moving from your neck to your hips, as he raises you and thrusts you against the wall. You wrap your long smooth legs around his waist, as your hands move upward to tangle in his hair. He breaks the kiss for a moment, as he moves toward your neck, sucking and nibbling upon your succulent skin.

"So... long Bones. I,"pausing he digs his teeth into the soft skin of your shoulder, as you throw your head back against the wall in pleasure, "I have wanted you, needed you, for so long."

After recovering from another whimper at his words, you respond, almost not recognizing the depth of your voice which has been overtaken by a passion that you have never known.

"Well, Booth, it takes two to tango."

Removing his lips from your skin, he pulls back a little and your legs drop to the floor. Then he is in front of you, grinning at you as you look back, frustrated at the lack of lip-to-lip connection.

"How do you even--?"

"Angela, Booth. I heard it from Angela. Now, are you going to get your lips back on me or am I going to have to force you?

" Gladly... although, the forcing could be kinda fun.."

"Booth!"

"Yes Bones?"

"Lips. On me. Now."

"Yes, ma'am"

With that he is on you again. Igniting your body as he lands his mouth open on yours. His hands are dropping from your waist to your bum, as he grabs as much as he can hold. Thankful for his large hands, you take his bottom lip between your teeth and pull it away, sucking on it as he pulls your lower body against his.

As you release your prisoner you push forward and spin him around so his back is against the wall, and you are in control. His hands are back into your hair, his fingers desperately playing with it, as he tries to keep your kiss deeper than a bottomless ocean. You try to decipher the placement of your own hands, but they are everywhere. His hair, his chest, grabbing your own fistful of his finely chiseled ass.

Suddenly, you feel the pressure around your breasts weaken. Confused, it takes you a moment to realise what caused the flutter. Regrettably breaking the contact, you peel your swollen lips from his and take a very small step back, just in time to see the damp towel release its grip from your body and droop to the floor.

Your eyes shoot back to his, but his gaze is not awaiting yours. Instead he is staring, appreciating, looking upon your every curve with amazement. An invisible fist tightens its grip around your heart, as it fights to jump from your chest. Your stomach clenches into a collection of thousands of knots.

You hold your breath as he lifts a nervous yet determined hand toward your uncovered waist. As it gradually greets your senses, powerful shudders envelop your entire being, your eyes closing to stop your soul from escaping and following his every move for all eternity.

Finally his other hand reaches your other side and he grazes your skin ever so softly with the back of his fingers. Your response is a hearty moan, but it is hidden by the powerful groan that escapes his throat. Curious, you cant help but open your lids to watch him.

Surprised you see his eyes are closed and his mouth hanging slightly ajar, his breaths being released in jagged ripples. Slowly, his hands dance to your lower back, trailing over your skin, up and down your back.

Finally he opens his eyes, and your heart skips another beat as you see the strength of the the desire swirling within. Taking a calming breath, you raise your left hand to cup his cheek, keeping your gaze locked with his.

Opening your mouth, your utter five words. Five words which have been waiting to be uttered for years. Five words which will change your relationship forever. Five words which satisfy your heart and soul completely.

"Make love to me, Booth."

And, gently laying you down upon the fallen towel, passionately recapturing your mouth and forfeiting his heart to yours, he does just that.

* * *

___**There you go guys! I hope you liked my lil' **__**ending!  
**_

___**Rightio, now I'**__**m off to read the some 2000 Bones fanfic stories that have been published while I didnt have access to this wonderful beloved site!**_

___**Sending you all lots of BB love!**_

___**Thanks for reading :)**_


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